


Blissful [Little] Death

by Midnight Wolf (Larkawolfgirl)



Series: Kinktober 2018 [6]
Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Choking, F/M, Kinktober, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 15:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16221638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larkawolfgirl/pseuds/Midnight%20Wolf
Summary: It’s a cycle, a beautiful dance with death.





	Blissful [Little] Death

Sometimes, 2B lies awake just so she can watch 9S sleep. He’s always pure, like a beacon of sunshine shining through this abandoned shithole Earth’s become, but like this, with eyes closed, face relaxed, and guard down, he looks fragile and exposed. Her fingers trace over his cheeks and jawline and down to his throat. Her hand burns with the memory of what it feels like to grip and grip until the tissue beneath constricts and finally snaps. Her eyes remember what it looks like to see the life drain right out of him leaving him much as he is now, still and pure and beautiful beyond the wretchedness. Fingers tremble as they leave that spot to trace over his collarbone, the lean frame of his chest, to the dip of stomach and hipbones. That’s where she stops and breathes and tells herself there is still time--limited and pointless, but existent.

2B was the first to initiate this relationship and has continued to do so since. There is such little time for them and she is determined to savor as much of it as she can. She’s content with the pleasure, the intimacy alone, but 9S naively thinking they have all the time in the world, asks her to take things further. 

She’s already straddling him, thighs spread wide to either side of him as she slides over his length, when he asks unveiled, big, lustrous, grey blue eyes speaking honest intent, and she knows she cannot deny him anything. Choke, he always says, never strangle, and she takes a breath, telling herself there is a difference; choke means to stifle, strangle means to kills. 

Her hands, planted on his chest to support her movements, slide up to rest at his neck. “Tap my thigh three times if it is too much,” she says, not trusting the hands that know how to crush.

9S shakes his head, face a display of faith. “I trust you.”

Guilt knots at her stomach, but she gives a nod and forces her fingers to give a squeeze. He makes a strangled sound at the first compression, and she only pauses for a moment before assessing it is in fact from pleasure. She begins to ride him with calculated movements so as not to lose focus on her hands. His hand squeezes at her wrist as he gives a choked moan, clearly telling her to give more force, and she does. She should feel sick, but she doesn’t. Pleasure is pooling in the pit of her stomach, and she moans herself, head falling back a fraction. Memory cannot kill this moment, this sense of control and conpletion. He has given himself to her fully, put his life literally in her hands, and she’s set to take all of it. 

Fingers grip and hips rock for several seconds longer before her hold ceases.He manages to suck in a lungful of air before she descends to claim it, lips searing at his own. She cannot tell him in words what this means to her, what holding his lifeblood without spilling it signifies to her, but she can make him feel it, with her lips and her hands and her core. He kisses her back, hands threading through her hair as she tightens the muscles of her channel on her upstroke. She plunges back down, and their mouths break apart only for her hands to tightened once more. 

It’s a cycle, a beautiful dance with death, one that releases that box of guilt inside her. All that emotion comes flowing out in the form of passion, descending onto him in grip and heat and suction. He’s writhing through it and she’s heady with the surrender to this primal force. The knowledge that she could snap him right here, and he would  _ enjoy _ it, surges in her chest as the lust wells up in her stomach. 

They are so close now, and he is wheezing through his hitching breath, but still he does not tap at her thigh, and she grins. She lets him take a single breath, then squeezes once more, and he’s choking on laughter now as well as moans. One hand stays on her wrist as the over pinches at her clit. 

Her hands and walls both squeeze tighter on impulse, and suddenly she’s shaking through her orgasm. Hands fall slack, and he gasps in air as his hips thrust up to chase down his own orgasm, which he finds in no more than a handful thrusts. 

2B stays there, having no immediate desire to separate them yet. Fingers trace over the imprinted outline of her grip, like a brand. 

9S’ eyes catch hers. “2B,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“Nines,” he gives a little shudder at the nickname, “thanks.”

His eyes widen, showing off more wonderfully blue iris, “Isn’t that my line?”

She smiles and wraps her arms around him. “Perhaps.”

His hand tugs her closer by the small of her back. “It sounds strange, but that made me feel safe.”

A warmth passes through her at that. Maybe it is sick and twisted, but she thinks killing him will be easier from now on. Perhaps even enjoyable in a nonsensical, abnormal way. But for right now, she kisses at his skin and holds him tight, feeling how he is still inside her, that he is still there, and knowing that he always will be, in one way or another.


End file.
